


Won't You Spoil Me Undone?

by overratedantihero



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: And Then An Actual Age Inappropriate Relationship, Cuddling, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mention of Age Inappropriate Relationships, Touch-Starved, Trans Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Dick is lonely while deployed on a slow mission. Slade offers him company.





	Won't You Spoil Me Undone?

Dick was languishing. It wasn’t the thick humidity that choked him alongside the cloying scent of star jasmine filtering through the window. It wasn’t the heat that lured him into the lazy embrace of bed only to smother him with too-warm sheets. It wasn’t even the mosquitos that filtered into the room through the torn bug screen.

No, Bruce’s plan to upset Poison Ivy and Alec Holland from an ill-fated collaboration with John Constantine by sending Dick to New Orleans had several flaws, but all were surmountable. That is, except for the _loneliness_.

It had been exactly 52 days since he was last touched intimately. Because of his current post in New Orleans, it had been almost just as long since he’d received even familial touch. The embrace of a hurried hug from Damian, or a shoulder squeeze from Jason. Even the feel of Duke’s fist during a sparring session was preferable to the starvation that Dick felt for human contact. Earlier that day, the cashier at the convenience store where he bought his cereal brushed his hand and he’d nearly whimpered.

Dick hadn’t heard from Bruce in several days either. Bruce was keeping contact scarce. Probably because Selina and Selina’s relationship with Ivy. Dick’s sure his most recent trysts didn’t help either. Last time Dick saw Bruce in person, before he was deployed to Louisiana, the two got into a knockdown, drag out fight over some of Dick’s… dalliances. His older dalliances, at least (which was entirely unfair, Dick wasn’t even sure how old Midnighter was, and honestly, Tiger’s age was pretty ambiguous too.)

“That’s what this is,” Dick told the mosquito perched on his arm. “He’s punishing me. He’s punishing me and he doesn’t even have the high ground.”

The mosquito continued to feed from his arm. Dick knew he should probably wave it away, but far be it from him to deny a hungry drifter a meal.

“I hope you’re not carrying,” Dick told the mosquito. “Not that there’s any shame in it. I just don’t want West Nile. Or Malaria. Is Zika still a thing? Should I be worried that you’re carrying Zika?”

The mosquito did not respond, but it did unlatch itself from Dick’s arm and flit away. Dick sighed.

“I may have been too forward,” Dick muttered, flopping back down on the sheets. He could go out, for a run, but Bruce set him up a safe house on St. Charles Avenue. There weren’t enough roofs for leaping. And the roofs that were available wouldn’t hold up to a grapple. Ivy and Holland were moving slow, and Holland was retreating from the city for the surrounding swampland without Ivy in the evenings. Connected to the Green, but nevertheless a Swamp Thing.  

Dick considered flirting with the receptionist at the neighboring hotel to pass the time, but another mosquito landed on his bared thigh.

“Oh. Where are my manners? I have a guest,” Dick cooed at the insect.

Suddenly, and with a crash, the useless bug screen was yanked from his window and a suited body swung into Dick’s room. Dick flinched but, as underdressed in a t-shirt and boxers as he was, would have leapt up to confront the intruder, if he didn’t recognize the blur of orange, white, and black. Unfortunately, the noises and Dick’s initial start loosened the mosquito from his skin and it flew away. Despite his loss, a thrill licked up Dick’s spine. 

“Grayson,” Slade murmured, pulling his mask away. Dick was pleased to see the muggy heat flushing Slade’s face too. “I didn’t realize you were expecting me.”

Dick wanted to climb Slade like a tree. He wanted to wrap his arms around Slade’s neck and just cling to him. He wanted Slade’s touch and Slade’s body heat and Slade’s sardonic commentary and in Dick’s desperation he would accept contact even over the suit. Instead, Dick just flopped on his back, into the pile of pillows behind him. And although he withheld himself from jumping Slade’s bones, he did plant his feet onto the mattress and spread his knees in a pose that he hoped looked both nonchalant and enticing.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” Dick murmured. “I was talkin’ to the mosquito.”

Slade blinked and arched his eyebrows.

Dick winced. To cover his embarrassment, he shot back, “What are you doing in New Orleans? How’d you find me?”

Slade didn’t look any less incredulous, but he closed Dick’s window and sauntered the perimeter of the room. “Had a job. Completed the job. Went to a convenience store to buy a bottle of whiskey for the hotel room and heard the cashier gushing about a pretty boy who kept doing handstands outside when people clapped. Tracked you from there.”

Dick was suddenly grateful for the heat. It hid the flush that was crawling down his neck and up his cheeks. “Oh,” he said. “You buying whiskey in that?” he added, gesturing to Slade’s uniform. Slade shrugged.

“New Orleans. Masks can get away with a little bit more here.”

And then Slade was approaching the bed, and then he was crawling between Dick’s legs. Dick obligingly wrapped his arms around Slade’s neck and tried not to gasp at how delightful the contact felt.

“Shouldn’t,” Dick murmured, just a touch too breathlessly for the fairly modest touch. “I’m working.”

“You don’t look it,” Slade growled, holding himself up with a hand next to Dick’s head. He rested the other hand on Dick’s clothed waist, and Dick willed that hand just a little bit lower, to the slice of exposed skin between the hem of his wrinkled t-shirt and the elastic of his boxers.  

“Field work,” Dick breathed. “And I was in bed.”

“Early night for a cape,” Slade said, without moving closer or kissing Dick’s neck or gripping Dick’s hips or any of the other things Dick wished he would do. Dick shifted slightly and, he hoped, subtly. “Early night for the Crescent City. You know you’re within walking distance of several bars. Why didn’t you seek someone to keep your bed warm there?”

Dick swallowed a squeak. “Bed’s warm enough. It’s hot in this town. I could actually go for a glass of water right now.” Neither Dick or Slade moved.

“Why are you pushing me away, pretty bird?” Slade asked. “Poorly, might I add.”

Dick huffed and tilted his head to glance at the burner phone sitting on the night stand. Slade followed his gaze.

“Ah,” Slade grunted. “Your daddy issues would be a lot cuter if they didn’t keep causing me problems,” Slade said. He released Dick’s waist to reach over and snag the burner phone, crushing it easily in one hand. At that, Dick did squeak.

“He’s already not calling me enough,” Dick hissed. “Why would you do that?”

Slade didn't answer. Instead, he blinked down at Dick before dropping to lay on his side next to Dick. Slade wrapped an arm around Dick’s waist and pulled Dick flush against him. Dick tried to pull his head back, to wiggle away from Slade, but the touch felt so nice after so many weeks of nothing. Against his better, Bruce-informed judgement, Dick buried his face in Slade’s neck.

“How long have you been here by yourself?” Slade asked. Dick hummed.

“About a month,” Dick murmured. Slade’s suit was tough and scratchy against Dick’s bare skin, but that didn’t stop Dick from entangling his legs with Slade’s. Slade lifted his arm from Dick’s side and Dick began to protest, but then Slade tugged his glove off with his teeth to run a hand up under Dick’s shirt, to splay across his back. Every muscle in Dick’s body relaxed (except for those between Dick’s legs, which Dick tightened as he admonished himself for the heat pooling in his belly.)

“You didn’t pick anyone up?” Slade continued, rubbing circles into Dick’s back. Dick shook his head.

“Not safe. Unfamiliar city. Can’t trust everyone who crawls in through your window, y’know?” Dick grinned against Slade’s neck. Slade grunted.

“One day,” Slade murmured, “your father and I are going to have a talk about how to properly care for needy little birds.”

“Jesus. Please don’t,” Dick whined. “Also, stop talking about Bruce. I can literally feel myself getting dry.”

Slade pried Dick from him so he could smirk down at Dick. “I can fix that.”

Dick only nodded as Slade slid lower on the bed, peeling down Dick’s boxers as he did. Suddenly, Dick wasn’t feeling so touch-starved anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I stayed up way too late drafting this monstrosity. Alternative title was "Lucky For You I Have All These Daddy Issues."


End file.
